


Love Is Blind

by elle1991



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awesome Clint Barton, Awesome Natasha Romanov, BAMF Clint Barton, BAMF Natasha Romanov, Blind Character, Blindness, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Coping, Courage, Cute Ending, Depression, Disability, Disabled Character, Emotional, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotions, Established Relationship, F/M, Feelings, Feels, Fluff and Angst, Fluffy Ending, Gen, Happy Ending, Healing, Heavy Angst, Hurt, Hurt Natasha Romanov, Hurt/Comfort, Love, Medical, Mental Anguish, Natasha Romanov Angst, Natasha Romanov Feels, Natasha Romanov Has Issues, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Natasha Romanov Needs a Hug, Natasha Romanov-centric, POV Natasha Romanov, Physical Disability, Protective Clint Barton, Psychological Trauma, Psychology, Recovery, SHIELD, Sad, Senses, Suffering, Trauma, True Love, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-13 14:12:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 14,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15366393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elle1991/pseuds/elle1991
Summary: After a mission goes horribly wrong, Natasha Romanoff is left completely blind. Whilst SHIELD scientists desperately seek a cure, Natasha struggles to come to terms with her disability. With boyfriend Clint Barton by her side, can she come to terms with a world without sight?





	1. Day 0

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wolfsdrache](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfsdrache/gifts).



SHIELD agents Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton were positioned outside an abandoned warehouse. Their mission was a simple one: retrieve a crate of stolen SHIELD biotech from inside and, if possible, arrest the thieves responsible.

The thieves in question were suspected HYDRA operatives, given that no one outside of SHIELD was supposed to have known the location of the facility where the crate had been stolen from. They had managed to follow the thieves to this location, having identified and tracked the target vehicle's registration plate via CCTV.

Presently, they were performing final checks on their weapons before entering the warehouse, both of them silent as they went through their pre-mission rituals. Once Natasha had finished checking her gun, Clint spoke.

"Don't you think it's weird how easily we were able to track them down?" he asked, sounding troubled. "It feels like a trap."

Natasha shrugged, keeping a sharp eye on her surroundings lest the HYDRA operatives be nearby. There was no movement in the shadows, no sound coming from inside the warehouse. Above them, the moon shone down on them, illuminating the night sky. For now, at least, it appeared that they were alone.

"Maybe," she said. "Or maybe they're not as smart as they think they are."

Giving Clint a smile, she leant forwards and pressed her lips to his, kissing him briefly.

"Don't get yourself killed," she said.

Clint smiled at the familiar sentence; they said it to one another before every mission. It was kind of like their good luck charm, something routine amongst the frequent chaos of their missions. It gave them both comfort, in a strange kind of way.

"Same," he said. "It would kind of ruin my day."

Bumping noses, they gave each one final tender look before turning to the warehouse side-door. Pulling her lock-picking set from her pocket, Natasha jimmied it open, before slipping inside the dimly lit warehouse, her gun raised in front of her, her senses sharp and alert.

She was faced with rows upon rows of rusted, long-abandoned shipping containers. Graffiti decorated their sides, crude slogans spray-painted onto the metal. Their height made it impossible to see the entire warehouse at once – something that could be either a help or a hindrance, depending on whether or not the HYDRA operatives were nearby.

"Let's just find the crate and get out," muttered Clint. "This place already gives me the creeps."

They split up, heading to opposite ends of the warehouse in order to cover as much ground as possible. Natasha moved forwards, her rubber-soled shoes making no sound on the floor, taking each row of containers methodically as she peered inside each one. Her heartbeat thumped in her ears; the intoxicating thrill of the mission never got old, no matter how many she went on.

The containers were filled with varying amounts of rubbish: leaves that had blown in through the damaged ceiling, drugs paraphernalia, and old mattresses that had at one time been used by the city's homeless. The crate of stolen SHIELD biotech, however, was nowhere to be seen. She came to the end of her third row of containers and stepped around the corner.

Her heart rate leapt as her eyes fell upon a familiar logo. The SHIELD insignia was stamped on the side of the stolen crate in bold black print. The crate was sitting tucked against the warehouse wall. She gave a low whistle to indicate her location, remaining hidden in the shadows until Clint appeared as back-up. With her partner by her side, she nodded to the crate.

They approached it together. Natasha tucked her gun into her holster as her sharp eyes took in the broken lock and the splintered bits of wood on the floor. With a mounting feeling of dread, she reached the crate and grasped the lid, wrenching it upwards to reveal the contents of the wooden box.

Empty...

No stolen biotech.

In fact, nothing at all.

Her pulse skyrocketed at the implications of this finding: HYDRA had already unboxed the dangerous biotech. Perhaps the thieves they were stalking were now armed with dangerous biological weaponry. Or perhaps they had already dispatched it to other HYDRA factions, to be used in terrorist attacks.

"Shit..." she said.

Twin thuds sounded behind them. Natasha span around, coming face-to-face with the two HYDRA agents, who had dropped down from the top of the nearest container. She immediately ducked and rolled to the side, narrowing avoiding a knife that lunged in her direction. She heard Clint give chase to the second attacker, disappearing amongst the maze of shipping containers.

She turned to face the first operative, lashing out and smashing her first against his temple, causing him to stagger. Rather than going down as she had expected, he slashed at her blindly with his knife. She darted out of the way, kicking him in the back of the knees as she groped for her gun. Before she could properly take aim and fire, he sprinted back into the maze of containers, instantly disappearing into the darkness.

Natasha gave chase, cursing herself for ever having holstered her weapon. The momentary head-start had given the HYDRA operative a maddeningly effective advantage. As Natasha ran through the maze of containers, randomly turning left and right, it quickly became apparent that she had lost him. Changing her tactic, she slowed to a stop, listening carefully for the man's footsteps.

At the far end of the warehouse, she could hear distantly the sound of Clint fighting with the second HYDRA operative, their grunts and shouts echoing eerily around the cavernous room.

"Hey, bitch."

Natasha span around, her stomach flipping with uncharacteristic panic as her eyes absorbed the sight in front of her. The HYDRA operative was wearing a gas mask, his cold blue eyes the only part of his face that was visible behind two circular glass windows embedded in the rubber mask. Her mind felt as though it were moving in slow-motion, her eyes widening as she watched him casually toss a small, malevolent, metal ball in her direction.

Natasha immediately scrambled backwards, her eyes transfixed with horror as the grenade began to spew out thick, dark gas. She tried to find a gap between the containers to escape, but the gas was all around her, blocking out the meagre light. She began to cough, the gas burning her throat as it entered her lungs, causing her to collapse to the floor as her body spasmed with pain.

She heard the HYDRA agent run past her. Gripping her gun tightly, she aimed blindly towards the source of the noise, firing one shot. She heard the man fall to the floor with a satisfying thud, vicious gratification shooting through her when he did not get back up.

Stuffing her gun back into her holster, she felt around blindly in front of her, her arms outstretched like a zombie as she tried to find the gap between the containers. Her entire mouth and throat felt as though they were on fire, tears streaming down her cheeks as she coughed violently.

She dropped to her knees, crawling on all-fours as she tried in vain to find a way out of the pitch-black gas. She could feel her mind losing its sharpness, confusion threatening to creep into the edges of her consciousness as she gasped for air. She felt light-headed, a ringing in her ears growing louder and louder as she breathed in more and more of the poisonous gas.

Somewhere to her left, she could hear feet running towards her direction, followed by a familiar voice calling out her name.

"Natasha?  _Natasha!_ "

Sweet relief flooded through her, immediately followed by fear – Clint did not know the danger he was running towards.

She tried to call back to Clint, but her throat felt as though it were shredded, the black gas now enveloping her absolutely, blocking out all the light. She banged desperately against the container to her right, drawing upon her final reserves of energy to warn him of the deadly threat.

She thought she heard him say her name once more, but she was not sure – the ringing in her ears was too loud to make it out properly, her mind too foggy to think.

With one final, shuddering breath, she slipped into oblivion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO: Hi there and thank you for checking out this story!
> 
> THOUGHTS: Starting a new story is always daunting for me... What do you think of it so far? Are you looking forward to chapter 2? Please let me know your thoughts <3
> 
> TEASER: The next chapter will see Natasha regain consciousness, but something will be very wrong...
> 
> TUMBLR: I'm on Tumblr! My username is [ao3-elle1991](http://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/). Feel free to follow/talk to me on there if you're feeling friendly or nosy!


	2. Day 0.5

As soon as Natasha came to, she knew she had moved.

She could feel the relative softness of the bed she was lying on, very different from the hard warehouse floor she had fallen unconscious on. She took several moments to simply lie there, taking stock of how she was feeling and noting that the burning in her throat and lungs had finally, thankfully subsided.

She concluded she was in a medical bay. She could smell the scent of disinfectant and hear the gentle beeping of machines. She allowed herself to relax, relieved that the mission was over and that they had, apparently, won in the fight against the HYDRA agents. Her joy was short-lived as she realised she would inevitably be swamped with post-mission paperwork following her mishap with the gas.

Bracing herself for a barrage of post-mission questions, she opened her eyes.

_...What?_

The room was blanketed in darkness. There were no windows or lights in the medical bay – no light source at all. She could not see a thing.

She struggled to sit upright, her movements impeded by various tubes that she could feel stuck in her arms. Immediately, she heard people hurry over to her location. A familiar hand slipped into hers. Natasha instantly gave Clint's hand a squeeze, relieved that he had made it out of the warehouse apparently unharmed.

"Thank fuck you're OK," said Clint, sounding stressed. "You scared the life out of me."

On Natasha's other side, a woman with a soft, kind voice spoke in the darkness.

"My name is Dr. Helen Cho," she said. "I'm a doctor with SHIELD. You're currently at a SHIELD medical facility. Clint called for back-up after finding you unconscious in the warehouse. How are you feeling?"

Natasha blinked, bewildered as to why no one was mentioning the proverbial elephant in the room: the fact that they were having a conversation in pitch blackness. Turning her attention inwards, she considered Dr. Cho's question and surmised that all the respiratory pain she had felt in the warehouse had vanished.

"I feel fine," said Natasha. "What's going on here? Who turned out the lights?"

There was a slight pause, during which time Natasha felt herself grow increasingly impatient. Had the toxins in the gas somehow left Natasha's system and entered theirs, leaving them slow-witted and confused?

"The lights?" asked Clint.

Natasha nodded, trying not to let her growing irritability show on her face.

"Has there been a power cut?" she asked.

There was a pause, a longer one this time, during which time Natasha could hear Dr. Cho writing something down on a clipboard.

"What can you see?" asked Dr. Cho, her tone gentle and calm.

Natasha sat in bewildered silence. Was this a trick question? Was she undertaking some kind of test – perhaps a SHIELD assessment of mental agility in strange situations? She grappled with how best to respond, before finally opting for the truth.

"I can't see anything," she said. "The room is completely dark. All the lights are off."

Until that moment, Natasha had not truly appreciated that silence could carry a quality. Some silences were awkward, some held comic timing, others were filled with hushed anticipation – like the quiet before the start of the play. The silence that filled the medical bay was none of those. That silence was heavy, sombre and absolute.

"Natasha..." said Clint. "The lights are on."

Natasha sat in a stunned state of shock. Her heart rate increased, hammering against her ribs as bile and disbelief rose in her throat. She could feel goosepimples erupt down her arms, her body going into fight-or-flight mode. She struggled to fight past the panic and form coherent thoughts, her mind totally blank, as if her brain did not want to accept what her eyes were telling her was true. It felt as though a great weight was suddenly pressing down on her chest, her breaths coming out short and sharp.

"Natasha," said Dr. Cho, reaching out and placing a hand on Natasha's forearm.

Natasha reacted instinctively, lashing out at the unseen threat. Panic erupted in her chest as she heard Dr. Cho crash to the floor.

Pandemonium broke out immediately. Natasha scrambled to get out of the bed as she heard multiple pairs of feet running towards her, but before she could even swing her feet down onto the floor, several pairs of strong hands were pinning her back down on the bed, restraining her.

"Agent Romanoff, please calm down," begged Dr. Cho. Her voice was slurred, as if she had been hit in the mouth when Natasha had attacked her.

Natasha felt a stab of horror at having harmed the innocent doctor, but it was drowned out by the rising sense of terror that was rapidly overwhelming her as she looked around blindly, unable to see the agents who were pinning her down. They were shouting at her to stand down, to stay calm, but it was all noise to her, their meaning lost as she panicked.

"Don't hurt her!" shouted Clint.

Natasha twisted towards him, seeking out his familiar voice, when she felt it: something sharp penetrating the skin of her upper arm.

She gasped, feeling the effects of the powerful sedative almost immediately.

She fell backwards, all the strength leaving her body, as she lost consciousness for the second time in less than 24 hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FEEDBACK: I love comments and kudos - if you enjoyed this chapter then please let me know! :)
> 
> THANK YOU: Thank you so much to those of you who left comments on chapter 1 - I'm thrilled that you guys are excited about this story and want to read more!
> 
> CHAPTER TITLES: In case it wasn't clear, the chapter titles refer to the amount of time that has passed since the beginning of the story.
> 
> TEASER: In the next chapter, Natasha is going to learn the terrible truth about the gas that poisoned her...
> 
> TUMBLR: Feel free to talk to [me on Tumblr](http://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/)!


	3. Day 1

Blind.

The diagnosis knocked the air out of Natasha's lungs as if she had been punched in the gut in a bare-knuckle fight, despite the fact she was sitting perfectly still in her hospital bed. Horror battled with terror inside her chest, her hands shaking violently underneath her hospital blanket.

She was only aware of snatches of what Dr. Cho said after that. In her mind's eye, she watched her future falling away from her. Certain phrases that Dr. Cho was saying penetrated through the fog clouding her mind, piercing through to her awareness like a nightmare.

_"...effect of the gas released from the grenade..."_

_"...experimental neurotoxin..."_

_"...SHIELD's best scientists are analysing..."_

_"...significant monetary compensation..."_

Clint cut in there, his voice both hurt and furious, snapping Natasha's attention back to the present.

"Don't talk to us about compensation," he said. "Tell us how you're going to fix this. You're meant to be a doctor. Make her better!"

"Agent Barton–" said Dr. Cho, but before she could get any further, Clint interrupted once again, almost shouting.

"Fix her!" His voice cracked on the last syllable, unable to hide his pain and distress at Natasha's situation.

Natasha blinked, forcing herself to be present. Her heart leapt unpleasantly in her chest when the movement of her eyelids was not accompanied by the usual change in vision. Swallowing hard, she ignored her unchanging eyesight and forced herself to approach the situation as if it were a mission.

Step one: collect the facts.

"The gas grenade that was used in the attack," she said. "Was it part of the biotech that was in the stolen SHIELD crate?"

"Yes," said Dr. Cho.

Natasha nodded, encouraged. Having knowledge of the gas used to blind her gave them a big advantage; they should already know what the gas was and how it worked, rather than having to figure it all out from scratch.

"So, you know what the gas was made of?" pressed Natasha. "You know how it works?"

There was a small pause, during which time Natasha felt her cautious optimism dip. Fear filled the void, causing her heart rate to increase, the machines she was hooked up to beeping in response.

"It's not that simple," said Dr. Cho. "There were two types of gas grenade in the stolen crate: one which causes  _temporary_ blindness, another which causes  _permanent_ blindness. At this stage, we don't know which type was used against you."

Clint moaned. He sounded as though he were physically wounded.

"This could be permanent?" he asked.

Natasha shook her head instinctively, even though the question had not been directed at her, both unable and unwilling to accept that it might be true. She could not comprehend a future without vision. She did not want it.

"We don't know," said Dr. Cho. "We don't know which gas was used on Natasha. And even if we did, we have to bear in mind that all previous research was done on mice. We don't know how, or if, the effects differ with humans. It's possible that Natasha's prognosis will be different from the mice exposed to the same neurotoxins."

The words bounced straight off Natasha, her rational mind unable to make sense of the medical jargon as her emotions took over, terror and shock and hysteria raging inside of her. The shaking of her hands intensified, sweat breaking out across her forehead and down her back.

Taking a deep breath, she fought to calm herself. She remembered her ballet training at the Red Room Academy; the brutal 24-hour dance lesson that had taught her how to cope with mental torture. Slowly, she forced herself to shut away her feelings, to become unbreakable, to become marble – to inhabit the same frame of mind that had allowed her to dance on bloody feet for 24-hours straight.

Her emotions muted, the shaking in her hands stopped. She turned towards the direction of Dr. Cho's voice and spoke calmly, her hammering heart the only thing spoiling the illusion of control.

"What happens now?" she asked.

"If you breathed in the gas that caused  _temporary_ blindness in the mice, then we can expect your eyesight to return in about 7 days' time. That's how long it took for the mice to recover their vision," explained Dr. Cho. "If you were attacked with the gas that caused  _permanent_ blindness in the mice, we can expect that your eyesight will not return... Counselling will be available. Remember that many people live with permanent disabilities and live whole and fulfilling lives, nowadays."

Natasha nodded, concentrating on keeping her emotions tightly under wraps. She refused to contemplate the possibility that her vision might never return. It was too grotesque, too horrific, for her to think about.

"I understand," she said.

"There's nothing more we can do for you here, in terms of medical treatment," said Dr. Cho apologetically. "I recommend that you go home. It will be easier for you, mentally, to be in your own space."

Natasha nodded again. The draw of going home was a surprisingly powerful one. She had only been in the medical facility for one day, and she was already feeling confined and claustrophobic.

"You'll need someone to go with you," said Dr. Cho gently. "To be your carer."

Clint's hand slipped into Natasha's immediately, squeezing her fingers protectively.

"I'll go with her," said Clint, sounding almost offended that it should even be a question.

Dr. Cho cleared her throat pointedly, speaking directly to Natasha.

"Miss Romanoff, who would you like to be your carer?" she asked.

Natasha swept her thumb across the back of Clint's hand, feeling the hairs there that she had never particularly paid much attention to previously. They were soft and familiar, reminding her of all the other times she had held Clint's hand before. They had been in a relationship for almost a year now. With no biological family to speak of, Clint was the closest Natasha had to a relative.

"Clint will come with me," said Natasha.

"Very well," said Dr. Cho. "I want you to come back here for an appointment in 7 days' time. By then, it'll be apparent if the blindness is going to be temporary or permanent. I just need you to sign this discharge form."

Natasha felt a clipboard being placed onto her lap, followed by a pen being pushed gently into her right hand. She allowed Dr. Cho to take her hand and guide it to the correct place on the discharge form.

"Sign here, please," said Dr. Cho.

Natasha pressed her pen to the paper, scrawling her signature onto a line she could not see.

It was muscle memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SUPPORT FOR BLIND AND PARTIALLY SIGHTED PEOPLE: Losing your sight can be a very upsetting experience, especially when the onset is sudden or unexpected. The Royal National Institute of Blind People (RNIB) is the UK’s leading charity supporting blind and partially sighted people. [Their website](https://www.rnib.org.uk) offers practical and emotional support so that you can continue living life to the full.
> 
> RED ROOM ACADEMY AND BALLET: The 24-hour ballet lesson described in this chapter is a scene from my Black Widow origin story [Fearless](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8346310) (291,275 words). The story depicts the life of Natasha Romanoff, from the age of 3 to the present day, filling in the blanks about her past from the hints that have been dropped in the films.
> 
> FEEDBACK: What did you think of this chapter? Do you think Natasha's blindness will be temporary or permanent? Let me know your thoughts...
> 
> THANK YOU: Thank you to those of you who left comments on the last chapter - there's nothing more motivating than positive feedback!
> 
> TEASER: In the next chapter, Natasha will face her first evening at home as a blind woman.
> 
> TUMBLR: Want to follow me on Tumblr? I am [ao3-elle1991](http://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/) on there!


	4. Day 1.5

Natasha hated feeling helpless.

She had always been proud of the fact she was a strong, competent, independent woman. She had always been an active and decisive person – completing both everyday and professional tasks without the help of others. Her desire to do things by herself – to meet all of her own basic needs – was a core part of who she was.

That had been before the gas grenade.

Now, she was blind.

Now, she was completely dependent on others for everything: to function, to do even the simplest of tasks, to survive. She felt as helpless as a newborn baby – and she despised it.

She and Clint were back at her flat. The car journey back home from the medical facility had been disturbing. She had thought that she would be able to tell when they entered her neighbourhood; that she would recognise the familiar twists and turns of the car down the streets she knew so well. That had not been the case. Following the car's movements had been impossible, and when Clint had stopped the car and declared them arrived, she had been shocked, not only by their arrival, but also by her own lack of spatial awareness.

Presently, she was sat at the dining table, listening to the sounds of Clint cooking. That in itself was nothing new. They had been in a relationship for almost a year, so Clint was often around at her flat, the two of them enjoying their time off together. At the weekends, he would often cook for both of them, because he enjoyed cooking whereas Natasha viewed it as a chore.

This was different, however.

This time, the choice had been taken away from her. Natasha was not letting Clint cook because he  _wanted_ to, but because he  _had_ to. The sizzling of meat and the whir of the extractor fan taunted her in their twisted familiarity. Instead of being innocuous background noises, they now made her feel angry and disturbed in equal measure.

She heard the clatter of plates as Clint finished cooking, the extractor fan whirring to a stop as the food was plated up. Clint's footsteps came towards her, the plate clinking against the table as he set her food down in front of her. She listened to the scrape of his chair as he sat down.

"Barbecue-glazed steak, fries and salad," he announced. "Your favourite."

As she listened to him pick up his knife and fork and begin to eat, the sounds of his cutlery scraping against his plate meeting her ears, she realised she had a problem.

Eating was going to be a problem.

She could not see her food.

She could not even see her knife and fork.

Her stomach plummeted as she listened to the sound of Clint digging into his food, oblivious to her distress. She felt surreptitiously for her knife and fork, fingers shuffling over the table top, breathing out a silent sigh of relief when she located them fairly quickly. She grasped the cool metal implements, feeling a small sense of triumph, only for her mood to be clobbered back down as she faced her next predicament.

She had no idea where her food was.

Feeling ridiculous, she stabbed blindly in front of her, relief spurting through her when she felt her fork penetrate something soft. From the texture, it felt like a chip. She cut it in half, bringing it to her mouth and closing her mouth around the morsel of food. Disappointment mixed with frustration as her lips closed around a tiny piece of chip; she must have cut it not in the middle, but right at the very end.

Her mood souring, she tried again. She speared a piece of BBQ-glazed steak this time, again cutting it and bringing it to her mouth. Frustration exploded in her gut as she felt BBQ sauce smear on her chin. She had cut the piece of food to the wrong size again – this time too large to fit in her mouth.

Clint piped up, apparently having noticed Natasha struggling.

"Do you want to me cut it into pieces for you?" he asked.

Natasha slammed her fists down on the table, surprising herself with her anger. Rage and frustration mixed in her veins; a brutal, maddening combination.

"No," she snapped. "I can do it by myself. I'm not a baby."

Clint sounded shocked as he replied, audibly taken aback by Natasha's fierce response.

"I didn't mean it like–"

Natasha cut him off before he could continue, hating herself for pushing him away but also desperate to maintain as much of her independence and dignity as possible. It felt incredibly important that she be able to eat her meal by herself, without assistance. It was a matter of pride.

"Please," she said. "Just... let me do this."

It came out as if she were pleading. Her cheeks flushed with humiliation, embarrassment churning in the pit of her stomach. She waited for Clint to object, but he did not. When he replied, his voice was quiet and carefully neutral.

"Sure, Nat," he said. "Whatever you want."

The rest of the meal was interspersed with stilted conversation. The topic of her blindness was completely avoided, as was the mission they had been on when she had been attacked with the gas. The subjects felt taboo, almost obscene. They lingered in the spaces between sentences, like an enormous elephant in the room.

By the time Natasha finally finished her meal, she did not know whether to scream or cry. It had taken her almost an hour to finish eating. She could feel that her chin and the area around her lips were a sticky mess thanks to the BBQ sauce and her inability to tell how large each piece of food had been.

She sat in her chair with sticky sauce all around her mouth, feeling humiliated.

"Well done," said Clint, his tone maddeningly sincere.

She wanted to snap at him for being patronising, every fibre of her being screaming in protest at feeling so infantilised. But she did not retort. She could not, because he was notbeing patronising. He sounded completely earnest, genuinely glad that she had managed to finish her meal all by herself. She remained silent, fuming to herself internally.

Several minutes later, Clint wiped her face clean with a damp cloth.

She hated it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FEEDBACK: Let me know your thoughts on this chapter!
> 
> THANK YOU: Thank you to those of you who left comments on the last chapter - reading such lovely comments really motivates me to keep writing!
> 
> TEASER: In the next chapter, Natasha will wake up the next morning. Will any of her vision have returned? If not, how do you think she will cope?
> 
> TUMBLR: I have been known to give extra teasers to people on Tumblr upon request. Feel free to send me an Ask or a message! I am [ao3-elle1991](http://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/) on there :)


	5. Day 2

Natasha awoke the next morning.

She opened her eyes, her field of vision filling with... nothing.

She sat bolt upright in terror, looking around wildly as panic surged through her veins. Her legs were tangled up in the blanket, her hair matted and stuck to the side of her face. She stared into the darkness, horror and fear flooding her as the darkness stared right back with blank, unseeing eyes.

"Natasha?"

A hand slipped into hers, warm and familiar in its weight and shape. Natasha's heart slowed, ratcheting down from its staccato beat to something slightly closer to normal. Clint's thumb swept against the back of her hand in slow, soothing strokes.

"It's OK," said Clint. "I'm here."

She could feel Clint's weight next to her in bed, could smell his familiar, musky morning scent. It calmed her down marginally, provided her with something to ground herself with as the truth broke over her, a devastating wave of realisation.

Of course – she was blind. She had momentarily forgotten, upon waking; her mind not rousing from its slumber as quickly as her senses. Now that she was fully awake, she could remember everything, all of it flooding back like a sickening tsunami.

She remembered the mission, the malevolent gas unfurling from the grenade with a horrific sort of beauty.

She remembered the diagnosis, Dr. Cho's soft voice echoing through her mind:  _You're blind._

Suddenly, she felt nauseous. Bile rose in her throat as horror rose in her chest, choking her, smothering her. Kicking her legs free from the blanket, she swung her legs off the side of the bed, getting uncertainly to her feet. With arms outstretched, she felt along the wall, shuffling forwards an inch at a time so that she would not trip over some unseen obstacle and hurt herself. She felt the gap in the wall where the bathroom door was open, stepped forwards into it, her feet going from warm, fluffy carpet to cold, smooth tile.

She closed the door behind her and rested her forehead on the cool wood, trying to calm down. The sensation of darkness disturbed her, frightened her far more than a gun or a knife or some other physical threat that she could fight off. The helplessness of her situation made her feel vulnerable – a sensation that she despised. She had promised herself, when she had graduated from the Red Room Academy, that she would never allow herself to be vulnerable ever again.

She breathed deeply, reminded herself of the calming techniques that had helped her through countless high-stress missions. Slowly, the feeling of nausea faded, leaving her shivering and feeling as though she had been forcibly drained of energy. She sniffed the air, wincing when she realised that the unpleasant smell she could detect was herself – she had not showered since the mission.

At last, something she could do.

She took a step towards the shower, before her arms pinwheeled as she tripped over something, crashing to the floor. Rubbing her bruised legs, she sat up, pushing her hair out of her eyes out of sheer force of habit. She sat there for a moment, stunned both by the fall and the total disorientation that followed it.

She reached out towards where she thought the edge of the bathtub was, determined to pull herself upright and try again. Her hand came into unexpected contact with something plastic. She listened, mortified, as she heard her shampoo, conditioner and shower gel bottles all tumble into the bathtub. Clearly, she had misjudged her location relative to that of the bath.

She swore under her breath, gathering her feet underneath her and pushing herself upwards. She cried out in pain as her head smacked on the underside of the sink. The top of her head stung painfully, her ears ringing as pain throbbed through her skull. She reached out and touched her crown, relieved and surprised when she did not feel any blood.

Finally, angry and frustrated at the fact she needed help, but reluctantly accepting that it was necessary, she swallowed back her sense of shame and attempted to ignore her burning cheeks. Letting go of her pride, she called out to Clint.

"Help!"

She immediately heard him moving in the bedroom, his footsteps hurrying towards her location. The bathroom door swung open, a gentle waft of air passing over her, followed by the sound of his feet stepping onto the tile floor. The footsteps stopped dead. She could feel his eyes staring down at her on the bathroom floor.

"Oh God," he said, sounding shocked. "Are you alright?"

Bitterness and humiliation exploded inside her. She hated being pitied, almost as much as she hated being vulnerable.

"What does it look like?" she snapped, before taking a deep breath, struggling to wrestle her emotions under control and compose herself. "I banged my head. Will you help bathe me?"

She could not see Clint's face. She could not tell if he was offended by her snapping at him, or sympathetic, or annoyed. She longed to see, disturbed by how much was communicated visually; not just physical objects and distances, but social and emotional cues too.

"Of course," said Clint.

His voice was soft. He was not angry, then. She heard Clint step closer to her, felt the warmth of his body as he leaned past her towards the bathtub. She had been expecting him to turn on the shower, to hear the diffused sound of many little water droplets hitting the bathtub floor, which is why it came as a surprise when she heard the plug being slid into place, followed by the much louder, deeper sound of the taps being turned on as Clint began to run a bath.

She sat on the bathroom floor, listening to the sound of running water and feeling the heat emanating from it as steam wafted over her. She heard Clint opening the lid of a plastic bottle and wondered what he was doing. Her silent question was answered a few moments later, when she was hit by the scent of lavender. Her favourite bubble bath.

She bit her lip, suddenly ashamed at having snapped at him. None of this was Clint's fault. She was angry at the situation, not him. She should not be taking her frustration out on him. She took a deep breath and held it, letting it out slowly as she calmed her mind.

The sound of running water stopped. Clint's hand slipped into hers, pulling her upwards, guiding her so that she would not hit her head on the underside of the sink when she stood up. A hand settled at the small of her back, ushering her forward until her toes were touching the edge of the bathtub. With gentle touches and encouragement, he helped her over the lip of the bathtub. She slowly sat down in the warm water, the smell of lavender enveloping her as she soaked in the scented water.

She heard the faint thud of Clint's boxers hitting the bathroom floor, followed by the sloshing of water as he carefully got in the bathtub behind her, his legs on either side of her as he nestled up to her. She leant back, resting her head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her, gently, protectively, and kissed her temple.

They lay there for a while, soaking in the warm, fragrant water. She fancied she could feel his heartbeat where his chest was pressed up against her back. Natasha allowed herself to drift, her muscles relaxing, her mind no longer angry but strangely flat and blank. She felt herself enveloped in warmth – Clint behind her, the water all around her – and imagined herself wrapped up in a womb. She yearned not to think.

After a while, Clint nudged her upright. She complied, straightening up, raising her upper body out of the warm water. There was the sound of another bottle opening, followed by the scent of apples. Natasha sat in silence as Clint carefully washed her hair, gently, his fingers massaging her scalp with apple-scented shampoo.

In any other scenario, she would have loved this. It was sweet and romantic; intimate and loving. But, this was not some romantic treat. This was happening because she could not see – because she could not trust herself not to fall over and break an arm, or accidentally use cleaning bleach instead of shampoo.

This was not a frivolous act of love, but a necessary one.

It left her feeling in equal parts hopeless and helpless.

Despite the warmth of the water and Clint's hands massaging her head, icy fear wrapped itself around her heart and squeezed.

It was cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FEEDBACK: Who knew a bath could be so emotional? Please comment below with your thoughts on this chapter <3
> 
> THANK YOU: Thank you to those of you who left comments on the last chapter - I appreciate it massively!
> 
> TEASER: In the next chapter, it will be day 7 and Natasha will be back at the SHIELD medical facility to hear what Dr. Cho has to say about her prognosis...
> 
> TUMBLR: If you love Marvel aesthetic posts, feel free to check out my Tumblr at [ao3-elle1991](http://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/) \- I usually share at least one new graphic a day :)


	6. Day 7

Natasha sat on the straight-backed chair, trying not to blink as Dr. Cho leaned close, examining her eyes.

She was back at the SHIELD medical facility. The 7-day deadline for the return of her sight had passed. She was still blind. The tests that Dr. Cho was conducting were largely a formality – a bright light shone, allegedly, into each of her eyes. She had only the doctor's word that the light existed. She could see nothing.

To take her mind off the terrifying darkness, she distracted herself with noises. To her left, perhaps a metre or so away, some machine was softly beeping. The air conditioning unit hummed. Dr. Cho's breathing, less than a foot away from her face, was even and rhythmical. The nervous tapping of Clint's foot, by her side, was like a metronome. If she concentrated very hard, she fancied she could detect her heartbeat.

"A team of scientists are running tests in the lab, trying to determine exactly what was in the gas and if they can synthesise an antidote," said Dr. Cho gently, finally moving away and sitting down; Natasha heard the chair legs scrape slightly on the floor when the doctor put her weight on it. "For now, though, we need to consider that the mice who were exposed to the gas causing temporary blindness all recovered their sight within 7 days. The fact that you haven't recovered any vision suggests that you were attacked with the permanent gas... We have to work on the assumption that your blindness is irreversible."

It took a moment for the words to penetrate. Natasha sat in silence, her mind devoid of thought as the words sank in. She struggled to comprehend the magnitude of what Dr. Cho was saying: her blindness, permanent, irreversible... She could not imagine it, a world forever without sight. Ever since her diagnosis, she had clung to the hope that it had been the temporary gas that had been used against her. She had not considered the possibility of the permanent gas. It had been too horrific, too frightening, to think about.

Shock quickly gave way to panic. Her heart fluttered madly inside her chest, like some trapped bird. The darkness around her felt confined, claustrophobic. She struggled to breathe. She realised, with a mounting sense of panicked hysteria, that she would never again see the face of another human being. She would never again see colours, or shapes, or beautiful landscapes. It hurt her, like a stab in the heart, to think that she would never see Clint's face again. As if summoned by Natasha's thoughts, Clint spoke.

"But humans aren't mice," he said, forcefully. "Things might be different. The recovery period for humans might be longer than 7 days."

Natasha could hear the cautious hesitation in the doctor's voice when she replied.

"Yes," said Dr. Cho. "That's true. But I think it's best that Natasha tries to accept the situation, rather than hope that her vision might return. It will be psychologically easier, in the long run."

Natasha nodded, forcing her muscles into action, feeling like a marionette. The numbness was like a hole in her chest, eating her up and dissolving her like some corrosive substance.

"It will probably take some time for you to come to terms with your disability, and to get used to relying on your other senses," continued Dr. Cho. "I'll send over some leaflets about how to access practical and emotional support. You'll be eligible for counselling with SHIELD. I'll talk to your superior officers about both of you getting extended paid medical leave, as patient and carer."

Natasha forced a smile onto her lips, the motion a reflex, purely muscle memory.

"Thank you," she said.

She was vaguely aware of Dr. Cho talking about scheduling another appointment in the future, to check up on Natasha's mental well-being, but she was no longer listening. Inside her was a swirling, wordless panic, growing worse and worse with every passing second.

She heard the scrape of chairs on the hard floor. The appointment was over. She copied the others, getting blindly to her feet. She felt like an actor, an extra in the story of her life.

Natasha and Clint left the room, she holding his hand, he guiding her along the sterile corridors, down the staircase, round and round, until they reached the car park below the building. They crossed the tarmac in silence. The numbness in Natasha's chest grew larger and larger, filling up her entire body like a receptacle. She had no thoughts or feelings at all, only that terrible numbness, like a heaviness on her chest, squeezing tighter and tighter with each step.

She heard the car beep as Clint automatically unlocked the doors. She stopped, listening as he opened the passenger-side door for her and then gently guided her in so that she would not bump her head. She buckled up her seat-belt, her fingers slippery with sweat as she pushed the clip into place. She heard Clint get into the driver's seat, heard the engine start, felt the vibrations of the vehicle as they pulled out of the underground car park and onto the open road.

She felt as though her heart was being compressed inside her chest. If she opened her mouth, she felt that she would either scream or cry, so she kept her mouth clamped tightly shut, trying to breathe evenly through her terror.

She thought about light, and about colour, about shapes and lines and curves. Those were things that she would not see again. She thought about Clint, about the exact shade of blue of his eyes, and the way his brown hair looked blonde when the sun shone through it, and the lines on his face that revealed a lifetime of smiling.

She thought about the things that they enjoyed doing together: going out for long hikes in the countryside, climbing mountains to enjoy the view from the top. Sometimes, they would want a quieter weekend, and they would watch a film together, getting immersed in some imaginary world. These were visual pursuits – things that they would no longer be able to do together.

Natasha had not only lost her sight. She had lost her hobbies, her independence. She and Clint would no longer be able to do the things they had before. Things were different now. Everything had changed.

She rested her head against the car window, the vibration of the vehicle rattling her skull. She imagined what her thoughts must look like, inside her head, thrown about by the vibrations like clothes in a washing machine.

A tear slipped down her cheek.

This was not fair on Clint. She could not expect him to give up his life, to devote himself to caring for her, not when things had changed so drastically, so permanently.

She knew what she had to say. Her throat burned with the effort of it, some selfish part of her not wanting to say the words, wanting to hold on to what they had had before.

But things were not the same as they had been before.

Natasha's life would now forever be separated into two parts:  _before_ and  _after_.

She clenched her fist – to give herself courage, or to try to hold on to that moment before the present swept into the past, she was not sure – and pushed the words over her dry lips.

"You can leave," she said numbly. "I won't blame you. This isn't the relationship we agreed to when we started dating."

Silence.

Natasha wished she could see his face; wished she could get a glimpse of what he was thinking or feeling. She could not tell if the silence was good or bad; if he was shocked, upset, or angry. The seconds dragged on, the sound of tyres rumbling over tarmac the only noise in the car. When Clint finally spoke, his voice was raw.

"I love you," he said. "This doesn't change anything. I'm not going anywhere."

Natasha floundered, her heart breaking in her chest, torn between selfish and selfless; her heart's desire versus her own twisted logic. She could feel herself giving in. With an almighty push, she gave Clint one last time to back out.

"You're being kind," she said. "But I'm serious. I won't blame you if you decide to walk away. My... my blindness is a huge thing. It changes everything."

Silence again. Natasha yearned to see him, one last time, those cornflower blue eyes, the way his face creased into a smile. She tried to imagine him, hands on the steering wheel, looking straight ahead as he did whenever he drove, serious as ever about road safety.

"If our roles were reversed, would you leave me?" asked Clint quietly.

Natasha paused, considering the question. She thought back to the mission in the warehouse; tried to imagine Clint being attacked with the thick black gas instead of her, coughing and gasping for air, banging on the sides of the rusting metal containers.

She knew her answer.

"No," she said. "I wouldn't leave you."

She felt a warm hand wrap briefly around her own, giving her a comforting squeeze, before being withdrawn. She could imagine his hands, large and tanned, gripping the steering wheel.

"When I fell in love with you, I didn't fall in love with your eyesight," said Clint. "I fell in love with the person you are. I love you for  _you_. I'm staying, Nat, blind or not."

Natasha's throat swelled up. She bit her lip, tears slipping down her cheeks, rolling down from her sightless eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FEEDBACK: Oh God. Poor Natasha :( Please comment below with your thoughts on this chapter <3
> 
> THANK YOU: Thank you to those of you who left comments on the last chapter - there's honestly no better motivation than you guys cheering this story on!
> 
> TEASER: In the next chapter, Clint is going to open up about something he's been hiding so far...
> 
> TUMBLR: Feel free to check out/follow/message me on [my Tumblr](http://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/). I love interacting with readers :)


	7. Day 22

Several weeks had passed since the diagnosis.

It was night-time. Natasha was lying in bed, trying and failing to fall asleep. The state was in the grip of a heatwave, the air thick, humid and cloying. The bedroom windows were thrown wide open, trying to tempt in a non-existent breeze. Natasha tossed and turned, trying to ignore the overbearing heat and get comfortable.

Beside her, she heard Clint turn the page of a book. This was a new habit of his, Natasha had noticed. Before, Clint had never been particularly into reading. Ever since Natasha had lost her sight, however, every night before falling asleep, without fail, she would hear him turning the pages of a book. Whenever she asked what he was reading, he would dodge the question and change the topic.

A drop of sweat rolled across Natasha's forehead. She felt the bead of moisture travel along her skin, before dripping down onto the pillow. She huffed frustratedly, giving up on sleep for a while longer. She sat up, reaching out to the bedside table and groping for her sports bottle, finding it after a few attempts and bringing it to her lips. She drank deeply, relishing the feeling of the cool water as it soothed her parched throat.

The sports bottle had been Clint's idea. Glasses and mugs were a no-go now; Natasha would simply knock them over and break them, spilling her drink and endangering herself with sharp-edged pieces of glass or porcelain that she could not see. With the plastic sports bottle, however, its design meant that even if she knocked it off the bedside table, it would not break. Furthermore, it would not empty its contents onto the carpet. Instead, it would do no more than dribble slightly, until she or Clint picked it back up. It was a simple but effective solution.

"There are ways you can still live an independent life," said Clint.

Natasha listened to the sound of him closing his book and placing it on the bedside table beside him. She tried to imagine what he was reading. She silently coveted his ability to read.

"Your apartment will need some adjustments, but you can survive," Clint continued. "Thrive, even."

Natasha struggled to imagine in what ways she could possibly thrive with her dominant sense taken away. She could not work. She could not go out to do grocery shopping. She could not even walk around the flat unsupervised, in case she hurt herself. To be told that this was just some other trivial adversity that she could overcome felt like a cruel mockery.

"What do you mean?" she asked flatly.

Clint's hand slipped into hers. She clung on to it, savouring the warmth of his skin, trying to remember the last time she had looked at his hands. She remembered once, when she had been ill, he had entertained her with hand puppets. They had laughed together about the silliness of it, but it had worked; it had taken her mind off being sick.

"I mean things like the sports bottle," said Clint. "But expanding the idea to a wider scale. It'll take some research, but there will be ways we can make your apartment suitable for a blind person."

Natasha flinched.  _A blind person._  She had never expected to be labelled as such. She did not like it. She did not want to accept it. It frightened her. She withdrew her hand from Clint's, her mind rapidly getting sucked down into a dark place without hope or light. Depression and fear pressed in on her from all sides, threatening to breach her defences.

Perhaps Clint could sense her fear, because when he next spoke, his voice was much gentler.

"Did you know," he said, "that when I was a little boy, I was deaf?"

Natasha blinked, turning towards Clint's voice, stunned. In all the time they had known one another, he had never mentioned that he had once been deaf. Part of her stung, as if this omission was some kind of betrayal, but a larger part of her leaned forwards, seeking to learn more about this tantalising and unexpected piece of information.

"Tell me more," she said, suddenly thirsty for knowledge.

Clint took a drink of water from his mug. Natasha listened as his throat made little glugging noises, before he placed his mug back down on the bedside table. It thunked heavily. Porcelain on wood. No plastic sports bottle for Clint. Natasha felt a momentary stab of jealousy.

"I was born deaf," said Clint. "My parents didn't realise at first. They thought I was just a late talker, so they waited and waited, until eventually I was 2 years old and my mom realised that something must be wrong. The doctor said I was deaf. I'd been born with a damaged inner ear. It's my first memory: my parents crying because they thought I'd never be able to hear.

"I remember learning sign language. I didn't understand why my parents were so upset. I had a good quality of life. I didn't understand what all the fuss was about. Then when I was 6 years old, I had a cochlear implant. It let me hear. It was so weird, at first, to have to make sense of these strange sounds, to have to learn how to listen and speak and understand words. I thought I'd never be able to master it.

"But I did. I learnt how to hear, and how to talk. I adapted to a new way of living. My life both before and after the implant were good – they were just different, I just had to adapt. Maybe it'd be good for you to think of your blindness like that?"

A new way of living.

Natasha tried to imagine it: being blind forever, never seeing ever again, but learning to cope, learning to live like that. She imagined getting used to the blackness, the nothingness, the endless void in front of her eyes. She imagined waking up and not feeling sick when the morning sunlight did not flood into her retinas.

But rather than feeling empowered, she felt despair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HALF-WAY: That was chapter 7 out of 13 which means we're now over half-way through this story! Thank you for your loyal readership and I hope you enjoy the second half as much as you've enjoyed the first!
> 
> FEEDBACK: I love reading your comments <3 Let me know your thoughts on this chapter!
> 
> CLINT'S READING: What do you think Clint is reading every night? Let me know your predictions...
> 
> THANK YOU: Thank you to those of you who left comments on the last chapter!
> 
> TEASER: In the next chapter, Natasha is going to be offered something that could improve her quality of life. But will she want to accept it, or will she still be in denial that she may be this way forever?
> 
> TUMBLR: Are you on Tumblr? If so, feel free to follow/message me on there. My username is [ao3-elle1991](http://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/) :)


	8. Day 36

Natasha sat on the balcony of her flat.

She tilted her face upwards, enjoying the feel of the sunshine and breeze on her skin. She liked it, out on the balcony. She felt freer out there, less trapped than within the confines of her home. Perhaps it was to do with the lack of walls. Perhaps it was to do with the way the wind would blow through her hair, almost like a caress.

She heard the sound of the balcony door sliding open, followed by the scent of Clint's deodorant as he sat down in the seat next to her. He smelt woody and musky, like hard work and home all mixed into one. She had been noticing smells a lot more, recently. Sweat, food, perfume. It all seemed so vivid, now. There was a whole olfactory world that she had not paid much attention to before, but which she was increasingly noticing.

She was not sure how she felt about that. She did not know whether to be thankful that another world was opening up to her or disturbed that her body was adapting to having her vision taken away. She did not want to adapt. She wanted to recover. She fiercely rejected the diagnosis of  _blind_. She did not want it.

"I bought a book for you today," said Clint.

Natasha's heart clenched painfully. It was strange how such a sentence, innocuous just 37 days prior, could evoke now such strong and negative emotions. She was shocked, resentful and bitter that Clint could have done something so blatantly inappropriate. She was blind; she could no longer read.

Clint pushed the book into her hands. Natasha was about to hurl it away, her fingers curling around the book's edges, when she froze. Her breath caught in her throat. She moved her fingers, slowly, over the cover of the book, feeling the raised bumps.

"It's Braille," said Clint. "Each letter, number and punctuation point has a Braille equivalent. You can learn how to read."

Natasha trailed her fingers over the Braille, indecipherable bumps that contained a language, a potential new world revealing itself to her. Something stirred in her gut. Her throat was tight. Without understanding why, she was holding back a sob. She did not know if she was happy or sad.

"I really think you should learn it," Clint continued. "It'll be good for you – not just from a practical point of view but for mental stimulation, too. I'm worried about you. I feel like you're withdrawing from the world. And from me."

Natasha bit her lip. Clint was right. Natasha was increasingly withdrawing into herself, and she felt guilty about it. Warring with that sense of guilt was fear. She was frightened of talking about her blindness, of discussing it openly, because she knew that if she talked about, it would seem infinitely more real. She was not ready for that.

She pushed her emotions down and instead concentrated on the feeling of the Braille underneath her fingertips. The bumps were grouped together in what were presumably characters, but it was difficult to tell the shape of each character or even when one character started and the next began. Her inexperienced fingers ran over them repeatedly, cautiously, uncertainly.

She did not want to learn Braille. She wanted to recover. The thought that her blindness might be permanent sent shivers of fear, nausea and depression shooting through her. The idea that she might  _need_  Braille made her feel dizzy.

"Please," begged Clint. "Will you try to learn it?"

She imagined him, his blue eyes wide and beseeching, his expression earnest. Did Clint look sad or hopeful, at that moment? Natasha had no way to tell. She imagined both expressions, and was suddenly struck by a sudden and paralysing fear: that one day she might begin to forget what Clint looked like. She did not want his image to fade from her memory, like an old photograph.

She had a lump in her throat.

She could not explain why she was so opposed to learning Braille. She was not against the language. She was certainly not against blind people. There was no logical basis for her position. It was simply a feeling: a feeling that if she were to learn Braille, then it would mean giving up hope of a miraculous recovery, and she was not ready for that just yet.

She felt a tear slip down her face, imagined Clint's face crumpling with sadness, and whispered her reply, honest and devastating: "I can't."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO...? You guys were a bit quiet in the comments of the last chapter. Are you still enjoying the story? If so, please feel free to hit the kudos button and/or write a comment - I love reading your thoughts and really appreciate your feedback! <3
> 
> TEASER: In the next chapter, Natasha's mental health is going to take a dramatic turn...
> 
> TUMBLR: Feel free to follow/message me on Tumblr. My username is [ao3-elle1991](http://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/) ;)


	9. Day 71

Natasha and Clint lay curled together in bed.

It was the evening, and as Natasha lay with her hand resting on Clint's chest, feeling his heartbeat, she found herself reflecting on the day's events.

Today had been a milestone, of sorts.

Today was the first time that Natasha had spent the entire day alone. Clint had gone back to work, having negotiated a part-time working arrangement with SHIELD, leaving Natasha alone in the flat.

It was with pride that Natasha recalled how well she had managed to look after herself. Over the last few months, she had become adept at feeling her way around her flat without bumping into anything; she had developed a detailed internal map of objects and their whereabouts. At lunchtime, she had even managed to eat the meal that Clint had prepared for her, putting the dirty plate and cutlery in the dishwasher once she had finished.

Today had been a success.

It had also been incredibly, mind-numbingly boring.

With nothing to do, Natasha had spent much of the day simply walking around the flat, testing her ability to walk without knocking anything over. Eventually, she had sat down on the sofa and used a digital assistant to put on some films with the audio description turned on. It had been enough to alleviate her boredom for one day, but she knew that if Clint were to go back to work more regularly, she would need much more than films to occupy her mind.

She trailed her fingers up and down Clint's chest, feeling the familiar rise and fall of his muscles, the slight softness of his belly. She contemplated another day alone in the flat, the insufferable boredom, and found herself asking a question she had so far been resolutely avoiding.

"What's going to happen with my future?" she asked quietly.

It was a topic she had been avoiding. She had not wanted to consider the possibility that this – this blindness, this constant darkness – might be her future. It had frightened her. It had not been something she had felt strong enough to face. But it had been over two months since the gas grenade attack, and with no improvement in her vision, she knew that it was time to face facts: she might never see again.

Clint shifted, the duvet rustling as he re-positioned himself, wrapping an arm around Natasha's shoulders. Natasha nestled against his warmth, her fingers running over his torso, committing a map of his skin to memory.

"I talked to Phil today," said Clint. "He said that there will always be a place for you to work at SHIELD, whenever you're ready to go back. They'll find a way for you to be a SHIELD agent."

Natasha's heart clenched painfully. As kind as it was for SHIELD to retain a place for her within its ranks, she knew that on a practical level it would be overwhelmingly challenging.

"Everything's different now," said Natasha, her voice shaking slightly as she said her fears aloud for the first time. "I can't just go back to my old job. I can't see. I can't drive. I can't even read."

Clint's lips pressed against her forehead, kissing her gently. Natasha squeezed her eyes shut, pretending for a moment that the darkness was due her closing her eyes rather than her vision being damaged. She concentrated on the shape of his lips on her skin, the way his stubble scratched at her.

"Well, you can't go back to the exact same job as before," admitted Clint. "But you don't have to be a field agent. There are lots of other jobs at SHIELD. I know that the Linguistics department are always looking for new staff. Maybe you could translate audio recordings for them. You're a brilliant linguist."

Natasha opened her eyes. Her heart beat quickened in her chest as she considered it. She was fluent in Russian, English, French, German and Spanish. She was a trained translator. Her linguistic skills were ones that she could use even without her sight, if she were given audio recordings. The idea of going back to work, of stimulating her mind, gave her a sudden and unexpected rush of excitement.

"As for driving, that's a no-no until autonomous vehicles become a thing," continued Clint. "But reading..."

Natasha heard him slip off the bed, his warmth sliding away from her as he padded over to the other side of the bedroom, his footfalls muffled by the fluffy carpet. She heard him rummaging around, before letting out a pleased-sounding hum and returning to bed. He slipped back underneath the covers, coaxing her up so that she was sitting up alongside him.

"Hands out," he said gently.

Natasha held out her hands, palms facing up. Clint placed something in them, rectangular and familiar. Her fingers ran over the front cover of the book, taking in the raised bumps that spelt out the title.

It was the Braille book that Clint had brought her over a month before, but which she had then rejected.

"I know this is difficult, but whenever you're ready, this book is here," said Clint. "Just... Just think of it as another language. You love languages."

Natasha smiled tentatively. Her fingers glided over the bumps on the page, excitement bubbling up inside her. She could learn this. It was not quite a whole new language – it was English, after all – but it was a new channel of communication. It would unlock a new world to her. It would allow her to read. It would empower her.

She took a deep breath, steadying her nerves. With supreme effort, she pushed past the fear that had threatened, at one point, to consume her. She looked up, marginally less afraid as she faced the darkness.

"Let's do it," she said.

When Clint spoke next, she could hear the pride in his voice. He turned the Braille book onto the first page and took her right index finger, gently placing it onto the page. Natasha felt the bumps beneath her fingertip.

"This," said Clint, "is the letter A."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FEEDBACK: Yesss, Natasha is being so brave! :D Are you enjoying this story? If so, feel free to hit the kudos button and/or write a comment - I love reading your thoughts!
> 
> THANK YOU: Thank you to those of you who left comments on the last chapter - hearing your thoughts is an absolute pleasure <3
> 
> TEASER: In the next chapter, Clint is going to introduce Natasha to a certain phrase from his favourite film, Avatar, that has a rather special meaning...
> 
> TUMBLR: Feel free to follow/message me on Tumblr. My username is [ao3-elle1991](http://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/) <3


	10. Day 100

Natasha awoke to the rustle of pages turning.

It was a familiar sound, by then, listening to Clint reading in bed. It was often the last sound she heard before falling asleep, or the first sound she heard on sleepy weekend mornings. He still refused to reveal what he was reading, but Natasha did not mind. Listening to the sound of the pages turning was strangely soothing. It was something she now associated with home.

Besides, now she could join in.

She was currently reading a Braille version of Harry Potter. It was difficult, and often she had to go over the same word several times in order to tell what it said, but she was improving. Every day, it was becoming a little easier. The previous evening, she had passed the book's half-way point.

Clint must have realised she was awake, because she heard the sound of the book closing and being set down on the bedside table. The duvet rustled as Clint slid down beside her, his hands reaching out and stroking her arms. Natasha hummed as he caressed her, her own fingertips tracing around his face, mapping out a mental image of him as her fingers ran over his morning stubble.

They kissed gently. Natasha licked gently at his tongue, enjoying the taste of his lips and the familiar scratch of his face against hers. There was so much pleasure and joy to be taken in touching, tasting, smelling, that she had never truly appreciated before.

"I was thinking about one of my favourite movies the other day," said Clint. " _Avatar_. Have you heard of it?"

Natasha thought back, the name tugging at her with familiarity. She smiled as the memory slid into place. She had watched it with Steve, when he had been catching up on everything he had been missed after 70 years asleep in the Arctic. He had been amazed at the film's visual effects. Back in 1945, they had not even had colour television.

"Yeah," she said. "The one with the blue aliens, right? About environmental conservation? I remember it. It was good."

Clint's hand slipped into hers. Natasha smiled, the weight and shape of his hand fitting so perfectly into her own. The warmth of his hand seeped into her own. Warmth. Love. Home.

"I was thinking about one of the phrases that the aliens used in their language:  _oel ngati kameie_ ," said Clint. "It means  _I see you_."

Natasha thought back to the film, remembered the deep, meaningful way the characters would look at one another as they said the line. The colour of their skin, bright blue, lingered in her mind's eye like an afterimage.

"But  _oel ngati kameie_  isn't about seeing someone in a visual sense," continued Clint. "A better translation might be  _I understand you_. O _el ngati kameie_  is about seeing into someone's soul, seeing the real them, underneath the skin. It's about understanding someone or something on a deeper level, really connecting to the heart of it."

Natasha listened. The phrase stirred something inside her. She gripped Clint's hand, her heart swelling.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is that you may not be able to see the world on a visual level anymore, but you can still 'see' it on a deeper level," said Clint. "You're still part of the world. You can still be active in it. You can still understand it. Seeing isn't all about vision."

A smile spread slowly across Natasha's face. Clint was right. In the  _Avatar_ world, the phrase  _oel ngati kameie_  did not refer to seeing as a sensory action, but an intellectual one.

To see meant to understand.

To see meant to connect with a person or an idea at its very heart.

Seeing was not an act of the eyes, but an act of the mind, the soul.

It made her feel empowered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FEEDBACK: Are there any Avatar fans reading this? I hope you enjoyed the reference to that beautiful world! Please let me know your thoughts by leaving a comment and/or hitting the kudos button <3
> 
> THANK YOU: Thank you to those of you who left comments on the last chapter - I adore hearing your thoughts!
> 
> TEASER: The next chapter is going to feature _drama_... :O
> 
> TUMBLR: Are you on Tumblr? If so and you want to follow me or say hi, I am [ao3-elle1991](http://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/) on there :)


	11. Day 137

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As the last chapter was so short, here's the next chapter a day early! <3

Natasha awoke slowly, savouring the warm feeling of being wrapped up in her duvet.

It was a Saturday, which meant she could enjoy a lie-in. She sighed happily, keeping her eyes closed and burying further underneath her duvet, cocooning herself in soft warmth. Lie-ins were once again a luxury reserved for the weekend – Mondays to Fridays once more followed a strict schedule – but she found that this meant that she appreciated them even more.

She had returned to work as a full-time SHIELD agent. She was a member of the Linguistics department, working primarily on Russian to English translations. They were going through a busy spell, tracking a criminal gang in Russia with suspected links to HYDRA. There was speculation, cautious whispers, that they might be trying to influence the outcome of the upcoming US Presidential election.

It felt good to be back at work, making a difference.

Being a translator was a tiring job, though, very mentally intensive, which was why she took so much happiness in enjoying a simple weekend lie-in. She kept her eyes closed, snuggling deeper into her duvet, and listened.

She could hear Clint cooking in the kitchen. He was singing softly to himself, careful not to be too loud so that he would not disturb her. In the background was a constant sizzling. The air smelt like bacon. She smiled. Clint was cooking a fry-up: her favourite.

Several minutes later, the sounds of cooking came to a stop. She heard Clint's footsteps approaching the room and dug deeper beneath the duvet, not wanting to get up just yet. Clint's footsteps entered the bedroom, the smell of bacon wafting in with him. Natasha sniffed the air, her stomach growling loudly.

She heard Clint laugh, the man somehow able to tell that the lump hidden deep beneath the duvet was awake. She felt the duvet bunch up above her as Clint grasped it firmly, before it was ripped off her with a flourish, cool air hitting her skin and making her groan with faux-frustration.

"Rise and shine!" yelled Clint, obnoxiously loud.

Natasha could tell from his tone that he was grinning. Still pretending to be grumpy, she flopped from her side onto her back, throwing her limbs out like a petulant starfish.

"Fuck off," she said good-naturedly, before finally opening her eyes.

She froze.

She could feel her muscles seizing up, her breath catching in her throat, freezing in her lungs, as she gazed upwards. Even her vocal chords were paralysed. She could not utter a sound. She could not get enough air, she could feel herself starting to hyper-ventilate, sweat breaking out on her forehead.

Clint reacted immediately. Natasha felt his hands on her shoulders, shaking her.

"What's wrong?" said Clint, his voice panicked. "Did I hurt you?"

Natasha at last regained some motor control, opening and closing her mouth. No words came out. Shock exploded in her chest. She was overcome, barely daring to believe it as she opened and closed her eyes.

Open... Closed... Open... Closed...

Light... Dark... Light... Dark...

"I can..." she said, before swallowing, her throat tight, as she blinked once more. She held her breath, her head spinning with unreality.

Blink... Blink...

Dark... Light... Dark... Light...

It was vision, of a sort. She could perceive no details – no colours, no shapes, nothing particularly comprehensible – just light and dark. To anyone else, it would not be much, but for Natasha, it was the most she had seen since the gas had unfurled from the grenade in the abandoned factory. She could not stop the sob which escaped her lips.

"I can see," she managed to blurt out.

Later, when Natasha would try to remember that day, what happened next would come back to her in a blur, a series of disjointed memories that lurched from one to the next. She remembered pulling on her clothes. She remembered Clint helping her to tie her shoelaces. And then, somehow, she was in the car, feeling the vibration of the engine as they sped towards the SHIELD medical facility.

Clint was asking all sorts of questions, but she could not concentrate on what he was saying long enough to answer him. She sat in the passenger seat, entranced by the change in light and dark that she would perceive whenever they went through a tunnel and then burst back into the sunshine.

Her cheeks were wet. She was not aware that she was crying. They passed through another tunnel. Light. Dark. Light. Simple and un-detailed. She had never seen anything so beautiful.

They arrived at the SHIELD medical facility in record time – there was no way that Clint had kept to the speed limit, Natasha would later calculate – and burst in through the front doors. 

Clint spoke fast, conversing urgently with the receptionist. Natasha did not listen, swivelling her body from the doors to the inside of the building, joy and disbelief exploding in her gut as her vision winked from light to dark, bright sunlight contrasting with the building's darker interior. Her eyes filled with tears, her throat tight and her mind spinning.

Clint's hand tugged at her. They began moving along the corridor, heading, as Natasha knew by memory, towards the lift. Clint's hand was slick with sweat within her own. She could sense his energy – a mix of excitement and an anxious need for answers that reflected her own.

"Dr. Cho is up in her office," said Clint.

He sounded stressed, as if afraid the miraculous change in Natasha's vision might be snatched away at any moment. For all they knew, it could be. Natasha's sight was not supposed to have improved. Her blindness was supposed to be permanent and absolute. The situation was unprecedented.

The lift doors opened with a ding. Clint half-guided, half-dragged Natasha the remainder of the way to Dr. Cho's office. They burst in through the door, not bothering to knock. Bright sunlight must have been coming in through the windows – Natasha could detect the increase in brightness.

"I was just about to call you," said Dr. Cho, sounding confused. "What are you doing here?"

"Huh?" said Clint, sounding equally puzzled. "Why were you going to call us?"

Natasha stepped forwards, too desperate for answers to wait for Dr. Cho's reply. She raised her trembling hands, reaching out and touching her eyelids, her heart leaping in her chest when her perception of light dimmed accordingly.

"I can see," she said.

Silence.

It stretched between the three of them, like an elastic band stretched tight. For a long moment, no one breathed.

"Explain," Dr. Cho said finally.

Natasha felt the doctor's slim hands guide her to a chair. She sat down gratefully, her legs suddenly feeling wobbly. She gathered her thoughts, trying to push past the excitement and concentrate on reporting exactly what she was experiencing.

"I can see light and dark," she said. "That's it: no colours, no shapes, no details. Just changes in brightness."

She heard Dr. Cho scribbling something down onto her notepad, the pen moving rapidly across the paper. She listened to the doctor get to her feet, walking towards Natasha and stopping directly in front of her.

"I'm going to shine a light into your eyes," said Dr. Cho. "I want you to tell me when you perceive light and when you perceive darkness."

Natasha nodded, staring straight ahead of her as she waited for Dr. Cho to begin. Her heart hammered inside her chest. She was frightened, suddenly, that her perception of light and dark might be a hallucination, her brain playing tricks on her, filling in the blindness with something that she wanted or expected to see. She had heard of it before: Charles Bonnet syndrome, where blind people suffered visual hallucinations, seeing things that were not really there. She bit her lip, dread welling up in the pit of her stomach.

Without warning, brightness flooded into her left eye.

"Light," said Natasha, her voice shaking. She prayed that it was not a hallucination. "In my left eye."

The light vanished.

"Dark."

Brightness again, in her right eye this time.

"Light. Right eye."

Darkness.

"Dark."

Brightness. In both eyes this time. Either Dr. Cho had two lights, or she really was going mad.

"Light. Both eyes."

There was a short period of silence, as Dr. Cho walked back to her chair. Natasha's stomach flipped wildly, her hands wringing together in her lap. Had any of that happened, she thought desperately, or had it all been a hallucination? Had Dr. Cho even had a light at all? She closed her eyes, afraid to hear the answer.

"Perfect," said Dr. Cho. "Both eyes appear to be able to detect light and dark."

_Thank fuck..._

Relief flooded through her. She let out a breath she had not even realised she was holding, the tightness in her chest disappearing as sweet, joyful relief spread through her. She wanted to laugh. She wanted to cry. She wanted to jump up and dance, embrace the doctor, kiss Clint, weep uncontrollably.

It was then that she noticed something strange about Dr. Cho's tone of voice. She sounded pleased, smug even, but not at all shocked.

"You aren't surprised," said Natasha, confused. "Why?"

She heard the scrape of a chair on the floor as Dr. Cho pulled her seat closer to Natasha's, taking her hands in her own. Natasha held onto the doctor's hands, noting the long, slim fingers, the delicate shape.

"As I briefly mentioned when you arrived, I was just about to call you," said Dr. Cho. Natasha could hear the smile in her voice. "The laboratory test results have finally come back. It's good news. The gas that you were exposed to was the gas that caused temporary blindness in mice."

_Temporary blindness..._

Relief exploded in Natasha's chest. She bit her lip, forcing herself not to cry. Oh thank God,  _temporary_. She felt tears slip down her cheeks, joy and disbelief surging through her veins. Temporary. She could not put into words how she felt. Happy and excited and terrified and hopeful and exhausted all rolled into one. It was indescribable. It was magical.

"Does this mean I'll fully recover my sight?" she asked desperately. "Will I be able to see again, the way I could before?"

When Dr. Cho spoke, her voice was cautious.

"I can't say that for certain," she said. "The neurotoxin was only ever trialled in mice, not humans. I don't want to provide false hope."

Clint's hand came to rest on Natasha's arm; a reassurance, a presence.

"But what do you think?" he begged. "We know you can't know 100%, but what's your best guess, if you had to bet on it?"

Dr. Cho laughed softly.

"I'm not a betting kind of woman," she said, before continuing, her voice buoyed with cautious optimism: "But the fact that the gas only caused temporary blindness in the mice, coupled with the fact that some of Natasha's vision has begun to return... I'd bet that there's a pretty good chance that Natasha will completely recover her sight."

It was Clint who started sobbing, Natasha would later maintain.

But, she would admit, once he started, she joined in too, and once she started, she could not stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHARLES BONNET SYNDROME: This chapter mentioned Charles Bonnet syndrome. This is a common condition among people who have lost their sight. It causes people who have lost a lot of vision to see things that aren't really there, known as visual hallucinations. You can read more about Charles Bonnet syndrome and how to cope with it [here](https://www.rnib.org.uk/eye-health-your-guide-charles-bonnet-syndrome-cbs/understanding-charles-bonnet-syndrome).
> 
> FEEDBACK: Squeeee! What an amazing change in prognosis for Natasha! Please let me know your thoughts - I absolutely love reading your comments!
> 
> THANK YOU: Thank you to those of you who left comments on the last chapter :)
> 
> TEASER: The next chapter is going to solve a little mystery that observant readers might have picked up on...
> 
> TUMBLR: Come and say hi to me on Tumblr :) I am [ao3-elle1991](http://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/).


	12. Day 155

In the weeks following Natasha's initial improvement, there was a rapid re-development of her visual abilities.

As well as perceiving the difference between light and dark, she could now distinguish shapes and colours. If she brought an object very close to her eyes, she could even make out details.

Dr. Cho had explained to her the science behind her recovery. Basically, it boiled down to the fact that her body was different from that of a mouse. Furthermore, she had been exposed to a much higher dosage of the neurotoxin than had ever been administered to the mice in the medical trials. This meant that it had taken much longer than the 7 days it had taken the mice for Natasha's body to break down the neurotoxin.

Nevertheless, the recovery process was taking place, albeit at a much slower pace. Her body was breaking down the neurotoxin, allowing the nerves connecting her eyes to her brain to slowly begin working once more. Once the neurotoxin was completely broken down, Natasha's vision would be as it was before. Dr. Cho estimated that Natasha's vision would completely return within the next month.

Presently, it was a lazy Sunday morning. Clint was taking a shower. Natasha was lying sleepily in bed, listening to the sound of running water as she gazed out of the window. She could make out the blue of the sky, as well as the green of the tree that was visible at the edge of the window frame. She smiled, her heart filling with joy as she drank in the colours she had so recently feared she would never see again. Letting out a happy sigh, she rolled over, her eyes falling on a sight she had not noticed before.

On the table by Clint's side of the bed, standing tall like a silent sentry, was a stack of books.

Natasha's heart rate increased. These must be the books that she had heard Clint reading every night – the ones that he had repeatedly refused to talk about. She glanced furtively at the bathroom door. The sound of Clint showering continued unabated; it did not sound as though he would be coming out very soon.

Overcome by curiosity, she crawled over to the other side of the bed. She reached out and picked up a book from the top of the pile. With trembling fingers, she brought it close to her eyes, squinting as the blurry lines sharpened to form words.

_How To Care For Someone With A Visual Impairment_

Her eyes widened. She had not been entirely sure what to expect, but it had not been that. She had thought, vaguely, that Clint had been burying himself in fiction to cope with the stress of having to look after her. She had assumed that it had been either something slushy or something raunchy, to explain his reluctance to share his reading choices with her.

She put down the book and turned back to the pile, carefully taking each book in turn and laying them down on the bed in front of her in a series of arcs. She leaned in close, reading each title in turn, a lump forming in her throat as she moved from book to book.

_Coming To Terms With Losing Your Sight_

_A Guide To Being An Effective Carer_

_Counselling 101 For Dummies_

And some leaflets:

_Apply for a guide dog! All your questions answered_

_Practical home adjustments for the visually impaired_

She stared down at the titles, tears welling up in her eyes. Clint had been reading up on how to look after her, almost from the very first day after her diagnosis. Every night, she had fallen asleep to the sound of him turning pages, not knowing that every page was his attempt to become a better carer. She bit her lip, love swelling her heart, touched beyond measure.

The bathroom door opened. Natasha turned, her heart rate leaping guiltily at having been caught red-handed looking through the books. Clint's footsteps stopped dead. Natasha tried to focus on him. From here, she could see the outline of his body, make out the dark line of chest hair that disappeared behind the white towel that was wrapped around his waist.

"This is what you've been reading every night," said Natasha.

It was more of a statement than a question, and it had the effect of finally jolting Clint into action. He walked over to Natasha, wrapping her up in a hug before sitting down with her on the bed. Now that they were closer together, Natasha could make out the blush of his cheeks. She reached out, tracing the pink hue with her fingertips.

"I'm sorry for hiding it from you," said Clint, his eyes downcast. "I didn't mean for it to be a secret. I just knew, in the beginning, how reluctant you were to believe you might never get better. I didn't want to put any extra pressure on you by telling you I was reading up on guide dogs and stuff."

Natasha stared at him. Clint, unbelievably, was looking guilty, as if he thought he had done something wrong and was expecting to be reprimanded. She took his hand in hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze, a mirror image of a scene that had repeated itself many times over the last 155 days.

She swallowed past the lump in her throat, trying to sift through the enormity of what she was feeling. There was, of course, a sense of being immensely moved by Clint's kindness and, underlying all that, a strong sense of love, tenderness and respect.

She reached out, cupping his face and gazing up at his features. Her heart leapt in her chest, butterflies exploding in her stomach, when she realised she could make out, for the first time in so many months, the blue of his eyes. It was just as she remembered: cornflowers, or the sky on a beautiful summer's day.

She stared into his eyes, drinking in the sight, committing it to memory lest the image ever fade.

"Thank you," she said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JUST 1 MORE CHAPTER: There's just one more chapter to go! I hope you enjoy it! <3
> 
> FEEDBACK: Let me know your thoughts on this penultimate chapter - I adore reading your comments!
> 
> THANK YOU: Thank you to those of you who left comments on the last chapter - hearing your thoughts has really motivated me throughout this story :)
> 
> TEASER: The next chapter is going to be the fluff-fest that these two deserve <3
> 
> TUMBLR: I am [ao3-elle1991](http://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr. Feel free to follow me if you like Marvel aesthetic posts and updates about my writing!


	13. Day 173

Natasha sat in the meadow, smiling as the gentle breeze blew over her skin.

She gazed out at the sight in front of her. The sky was a perfect blue, melting into purple and tinged with pink at the horizon as sunset crept closer. In front of her, the meadow sloped downwards, the wildflowers a riot of colour – red, yellow, purple, orange, pink – all of it interspersed with the green of the grass.

All this, she had taken for granted.

All this, she had feared she would never see again.

Earlier that day, she had gone back to the SHIELD medical facility for Dr. Cho to confirm what Natasha had already known: she had completely regained her sight.

This was her celebration.

She rolled over onto her side, watching as Clint opened their hamper of food, laying everything out on little paper plates on the picnic blanket. He worked slowly, meticulously, as if he wanted everything to be positioned perfectly for their first official date since Natasha had fully regained her vision. He was wearing a white cotton shirt with blue shorts, a straw hat sitting at a jaunty angle on his head.

Natasha smiled, drinking in the sight in front of her. The sun was bathing the scene in the most special evening light, she was surrounded by the most beautiful scenery, she could turn around and look in any direction and the view was guaranteed to be stunning – but she could not take her eyes off Clint.

Clint Barton: the most beautiful man she had ever seen. The man who had stepped up and helped her when she had needed it the most. The man who had been patient and stayed with her, even when she had tried to push him away out of fear and anger. The man who had given her the strength to contemplate a future without vision and not be afraid.

He had helped her to tap into her reserves of inner strength, to become the hero in her own story, to overcome the loss of her sight and embrace another way of living – one lacking in vision but nonetheless filled with life, vibrancy and fulfilment. When she had been so depressed at being sightless, he had helped her to see that a life without vision was still a life, that she was still valid, that her life still had meaning.

He had empowered her to save herself, to pull herself out of that miserable place and embrace life again. He had been there, constantly, to encourage her, to assist her, to provide her with kind words, love, and books written in Braille.

She stared at him, and she understood him.

This was a man who loved her, honestly and deeply and selflessly. He was a good, decent human being, kind and brave and loyal. Everything he did, he did because he was driven by an urge to do good in the world, to improve people's lives one person at a time. This man, in Natasha's eyes, was a superhero.

She wanted to say  _thank you_ , or  _I love you_ , but she had already said those words, countless times, and they felt insufficient.

She wrestled internally for the right words, searching her vocabulary in both English and Russian for some phrase to convey the feeling of love and connection that she felt for him, and drew a blank.

She bit her lip, disappointed, when something stirred in her memory, a phrase that Clint had said to her when her world had been shrouded in darkness. The memory solidified in her mind, a smile spreading slowly across her face as she turned the phrase over in her mind.

She looked at him, and she saw him, both on the outside and the inside – the brown hair and the blue eyes, and the kindness in his heart. She saw the soul of him. She understood him – wholly, emotionally, intellectually.

When she finally spoke, she knew she had found the words she had been searching for.

They fit like a glove.

" _Oel ngati kameie..._  I see you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> STORY ART: I've created [this art](https://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/post/176917149611/love-is-blind-read-the-fic-here-rated-teen-and) to accompany this story. Please share it if you enjoyed it and want to give it a signal boost! <3
> 
> THANK YOU: Thank you so much for reading this story to the end. I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> COMMENTS AND KUDOS: I adore hearing from readers so please let me know your thoughts on this final chapter and the story overall - comments and kudos are loved! :)
> 
> TUMBLR: I'm on Tumblr! My username is [ao3-elle1991](http://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/). Feel free to follow/talk to me on there if you're feeling friendly or nosy! I mainly share beautiful Marvel aesthetic posts and updates about my writing.
> 
> FUTURE FICS: If you want to get an email whenever I post something new, then click on [my profile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elle1991) and become a user subscriber. Be aware that this is _different_ from the Subscribe button on the top of this page, which is for this story _only_ :)

**Author's Note:**

> OTHER STUFF I'VE WRITTEN:
> 
> [Fearless](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8346310) (291,275 words) - A Black Widow origin story. Starting when Natasha was three years old and going right up to the present day, this story explores Natasha's life as a Red Room Academy student, KGB agent, SHIELD agent and finally, an Avenger.
> 
> [Steve And Bucky's Kinky Alphabet](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11776473) (176,544 words) - 26 chapters of explicit porn-with-plot featuring Steve and Bucky. Or: the one where JARVIS goes rogue and kidnaps the Avengers until they can sort their mental health out, and Steve and Bucky fuck a lot and fall in love.
> 
> [Time After Time](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16652011) (124,026 words) - Steve Rogers, Iraq war veteran and long-time loner, feels like his life is stuck in a rut. So when Natasha invites him to a masquerade party at a kink club, Steve throws caution to the wind and decides to go. There, he meets the mysterious Winter Soldier...
> 
> [Vengeance](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7285612) (51,573 words) - Bucky falls from the train. Steve will do anything to take revenge on those responsible for his death - even if it means joining HYDRA.
> 
> [Secrets](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14704965) (40,706 words) - Bucky is a man with a big secret: for 70 years, he was HYDRA's weapon. Nevertheless, despite his dark past, he is trying to move on with his life and has even formed a relationship with Tony. All seems to be going well, until a security breach at SHIELD threatens to expose his past.
> 
> [At Your Service](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14624802) (12,931 words) - Clint and Natasha lose a bet. Phil gets them to dress up and act out some of his many, many Captain America fanboy fantasies.
> 
> [The Adventures Of Steve Rogers, Newsboy Extraordinaire](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15153170) (11,161 words) - 7-year-old Steve has Selective Mutism. When Steve finds himself confronting a dangerous criminal, will he find the courage within himself to save the day - and even find his voice?
> 
> [I Like Cats, Too](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13646094) (10,526 words) - When the Avengers are torn apart by the split caused by the Sokovia Accords, a depressed Natasha lapses into a prolonged period of silence. Will anyone be able to help Natasha overcome her depression and mutism? Enter a very special cat named Midnight...
> 
> [Black Widow By Day, Black Kitten By Night](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15854061) (6,164 words) - Natasha dons her cat ears, Clint ties up his pet, and hardcore, steamy sex ensues.
> 
> [The Black Widow Ice Cream Parlour](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15253527) (3,746 words) - Natasha meets one of the people whose lives she has saved, and finally gets the appreciation she deserves.
> 
> [The End Of The Line](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7088617) (3,433 words) - Bucky falls from the train to his assumed death. Steve has to come to terms with a world without him in it.
> 
> [Turkish Oil Wrestling](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7013452) (2,620 words) - Steve and Bucky decide to have a wrestling match to settle an old score. Cue them stripping down to their pants, getting oiled up and engaging in a vigorous wrestling match that leaves them both hot and sweaty.
> 
> [So, You Like Cats?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7046986) (1,697 words) - Sam has a confession to make. It could make or break his and T'Challa's relationship. It all comes down to one question: Do you like cats?
> 
> [In Memoriam: James Buchanan Barnes](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7924684) (120 words) - A grief-stricken Steve writes a poem in honour of his best friend.


End file.
